


powers of ten

by honey_wheeler



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just about reaches for Kris right then and there, with two grips and a lighting tech standing five feet away. He wants to slide his hands under the jacket and up Kris’s spine, to lick the faint remnants of make-up from his lips, to catch hold of him and refuse to let go. He’s <i>dying</i> to. The fact that he can’t is like a punch in the gut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	powers of ten

**Author's Note:**

> Charity auction fic for a recipient who asked for ten drabbles chronicling Kris and Adam’s relationship through memorable kisses. I played fast and loose with the definitions of both “kiss” and “drabble.”

**1.**

It’s ridiculous, when you get down to it. Sure, the praise is flattering, but it’s insane too. Adam tries to deflect the more outrageous interviewers, but he can tell the others notice how much more attention he gets. They’re really good about it, though. That’s almost the worst part. He wishes they’d get pissed or make fun of him or _something_ , anything other than being so understanding and polite about it.

The interviewer he’s got now is particularly bad. She’s making it sound like he’s won already and they’re only a few weeks in. Kris catches his eye from over her shoulder just as she’s throwing around the word, “legendary.” His expression hardly changes, but there’s the tiniest twitch of his lips, the barest quirk of an eyebrow. Adam has to work to keep a straight face.

“I thought that would never end,” Adam says after the reporters are finally shooed off by their handlers and they’re heading back through the studio.

“I bet it was terrible for you,” Kris agrees mock-sympathetically. “Such an ordeal.” Suddenly he reaches out and catches the back of Adam’s belt. Adam can feel the tug against his waist, and then Kris is leaning down to deliver a loud smacking kiss on his butt.

“What the hell,” Adam bursts out laughing. “Get away from me you deviant.”

“Figured I’d change it up and make the ass-kissing literal instead of just metaphorical,” Kris shrugs.

“You’re a real fucking comedian, Allen.” Adam has to fight the urge to put his hand over his back pocket, where he could just barely feel the pressure of Kris’s lips. He settles for crossing his arms over his chest and attempting a glower. Kris doesn’t seem impressed. He grins at Adam and reaches up to mess up his hair before casually strolling out of the room.

 

 **2.**

“That’s me!” Brad trills as the valet pulls a car up to the curb. He has a habit of singing the most mundane sentences. Kris has to admit, it spices up the conversation. He’s started doing it a little himself, to the point where Katy can tell immediately when he’s been hanging out with Adam’s friends.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” Adam asks.

“It’s disco week, it’s going to be a disaster,” Brad says as he gives the valet a five. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He has to stand on tiptoe when he kisses Adam goodbye, pursing his lips at the air as he presses first one cheek then the other against Adam’s. To Kris’s surprise, Brad immediately turns and does the same to him, his cheeks bony and cool. Adam’s watching over Brad’s shoulder with an amused look. Kris wants to flip him off, but he restrains himself.

“Ta!” Brad calls as he settles into his car and zooms almost immediately into traffic. Kris is about to wonder out loud if he even put on his seatbelt when Adam grabs his shoulders and mimics Brad’s gesture, making exaggerated smacking sounds each time. He’s warmer than Brad, his cheeks are rougher. The smell of him assaults Kris’s nose and he has to tamp down the sudden fluttering in his stomach.

“What was that for, you asshole?” Kris asks, shoving him away with a nervous laugh. Adam grins and shrugs.

“Seemed like the thing to do.” Kris does flip him off this time.

 

 **3.**

It’s the lamest game of Truth or Dare ever. No one’s coming up with any good dares, and the truths have so far been pretty boring. Adam really didn’t need to know that Anoop’s first crush was on his 6th grade teacher. They’ve only been playing half an hour and everyone’s already devolved to posing random questions to the whole group.

“What about when we lost our virginity?” Anoop says.

“Know it already, 15, 20, 18, 21 and 19,” Matt says, pointing at each of them in turn. Something about it clearly amuses him, because he snorts gracelessly and starts laughing. Adam glances at Kris next to him on the bed and shakes his head. Matt’s a cheap drunk.

“How about, who would you make out with in the house?” Megan suggests.

“We know what some people will say,” Matt says, waving towards Adam’s bed with a decidedly unmanly giggle. Anoop twitches his lips, which is just about the Anoop equivalent of guffawing. Adam’s stomach sinks for no good reason whatsoever. He’s not ashamed of who he’s attracted to. He’s never felt any need to hide it, really. So why is he having such a kneejerk reaction to finding out that it’s obvious to everyone in the house?

“C’mon, we all know what I’m talking about,” Matt continues, his words stretching out into a strange drawl. “Always followin’ him around, makin’ eyes at him all the time.”

“Hey,” Adam starts, feeling that old irrational tinge of paranoia come back, the one he thought he’d left behind for good when he graduated from high school and left home to live life as himself instead of someone else. “Just ‘cause I’m ga-”

“Not you,” Matt interrupts, waving Adam off impatiently. “Kris is the one with stars in his eyes.” Adam snaps his head back in surprise. He looks over at Kris. He doesn’t know whether he expects anger or denial or indifference, but what he gets is a grin. The idea that Kris is attracted to him floods through Adam’s brain. He doesn’t know how to process it, really. He’d figured he was crushing at a brick wall.

“Yeah yeah, you’re a real anthropologist,” Kris laughs, lazily flicking his hand in Matt’s direction. He doesn’t seem at all thrown by the conversation. Adam’s both impressed and bothered, somehow. It’s not entirely flattering for him to act _this_ casual about it.

“Ooh, there’s a good dare!” Matt says, smacking his hand against his leg. “Kris, I dare you to kiss Adam.”

“Oh come on, he doesn’t have to-” Adam starts, but he’s startled into silence by Kris pushing himself onto his knees and leaning across the bed towards him. Adam’s dimly aware that the room has gone quiet, but his own head is buzzing, his pulse a heavy thump in his ears. It’s not, like, making out, but it’s no peck on the lips either. Kris’s mouth is soft against his. His breath smells like cinnamon gum. By the time he pulls away, the thundering in Adam’s ears is so loud, he almost doesn’t hear Megan’s soft, _wow_. She and Matt are staring unabashedly. Anoop is discreetly studying his cuticles.

“So Matt, who do _you_ want to kiss for your dare, Megan or Anoop?” Kris says, his voice snapping them all back to reality. It’s probably nerves that make Adam laugh so loud and suddenly. If Kris thinks there’s anything weird about it, he doesn’t show it. He just tosses a pillow at Matt and repeats his question until Matt finally starts paying attention.

 

 **4.**

“Kris.” The whisper from the hallway is insistent, if slurry. “Kris, let me in.” Kris frowns to himself. He reaches over to flick on the lamp, squinting at his alarm clock. 2:37am. Adam’s lucky he never gets in trouble for this shit.

“Krisssss, let me innnnnn!”

“What do you mean, let you in, it’s not locked,” Kris grumbles, but rolls out of bed and pads towards the door anyway. Adam practically falls through the doorway when Kris pulls it open. He can barely stand up and he smells like a distillery.

“Doorknobs are hard,” he informs Kris.

“They sure are,” Kris agrees as he wrestles Adam towards his bed. It’s a little like steering a parade balloon; Adam keeps trying to float off in other directions. Kris finally gets him backed up against the bed and Adam sits heavily. They’re high beds; Adam’s sitting down but he’s almost face to face with Kris.

“You are _cute_ ,” Adam says.

“And you are _drunk_ ,” Kris responds, amused. Adam smiles back at him, dopily. He is going to have one hell of a headache and no memory of this whatsoever tomorrow. Kris is about to suggest a glass of water when Adam lurches closer.

“No dare this time,” Adam says, and then it’s like he’s falling onto Kris’s face. It’s a sloppy kiss. It reminds Kris of high school, all lips and elbows and too much saliva. None of that diminishes the impact. Kris is feeling halfway drunk himself by the time Adam slides away and crumples onto his bed, snoring almost before his head hits the pillow.

“Goodnight,” Kris says to the room at large, and turns back to his own bed. It’s a long time before he falls back to sleep.

 

 **5.**

The string of curse words that Adam unfurls after he cracks his head on the light hanging over the kitchen table would be enough to make a sailor blush. He usually tries to keep a leash on his tongue since it bothers some of the others, but goddamned if this isn’t the third time tonight he’s hit his head on that stupid fucking light. And it’s not even a _nice_ light.

“Yup, still there,” Kris says from where he’s leaning against the counter with a bowl of cereal.

“Shut up.”

“No one’s moved it since the _last_ time you smacked your head into it.”

“The designers of this house were prejudiced against tall people.” Adam sinks into a chair and rubs gingerly at the lump.

“Poor baby,” Kris says. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“I know what you can kiss and it’s not my head,” Adam mutters darkly.

Kris ignores him. He sets his bowl down on the counter and steps next to Adam, pushing his hands out of the way, fingers gently furrowing through Adam’s hair to search out the knot. Adam goes still. He feels the press of Kris’s lips against his hair and then time goes all screwy, because Adam could swear they stay like that for a while, even though it makes no sense for Kris to do it for any longer than a second. When he starts to feel dizzy, he reminds himself to breathe.

“All better,” Kris says as he pulls away, giving Adam’s head a gentle pat.

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, not sure what else he could say without making a complete idiot of himself. “Um, thanks.”

“Anything for you, Adam,” Kris says, a crooked smile on his face. It’s pathetic, really, how desperately Adam wants that to be true.

 

 **6.**

Kris has never been in shock before, so he’s not sure what it feels like. This seems, pretty close, though. It’s not that he thought Adam would win. He just hadn’t thought about anyone winning at _all_. Really, he was mostly trying to stay upright and conscious after what was probably the busiest, craziest, most amazing week of his life.

He’s aware that his mouth is hanging open and that he probably looks like an idiot. He can’t help it. Adam doesn’t seem nearly so shocked. His grin is so big it’s just about splitting his face in half. Kris gladly lets himself be manhandled into a hug, buries his face against Adam’s shoulder.

They stay that way probably too long – Kris is supposed to be celebrating his win, he’s supposed to be looking for his wife and family in the audience, he’s supposed to be enjoying his spotlight and playing the gracious winner for America, or at least the part of it that voted for him. But he can’t let go of Adam. He’s about to go sliding off the edge of the earth into a whole new world and he’s not sure he’s ready to let go of this one yet.

Adam’s jacket is stiff and scratchy against Kris’s skin. If he thinks Kris should be letting go and accepting his title, he doesn’t show it: his grip is as tight as ever, the pressure of his fingers on Kris’s back like pinpoints of heat. Kris gives in to the temptation he’s always pretended didn’t exist and turns his head to press his lips against Adam’s neck where his pulse beats just below the skin. Adam jerks the tiniest bit, but he doesn’t move away or loosen his grip.

It’s Ryan’s hand on Kris’s shoulder, insistent and annoying, that makes him finally let go. The massive grin is still on Adam’s face, but there’s something else there too now, some unnamed heaviness. Kris almost feels like he should apologize, somehow. But then Adam’s lips twitch, his eyebrow quirks upward.

“You know you have to sing that song now,” Adam tells him in barely disguised glee. It’s the last thing Kris expected him to say. He laughs and makes a face.

“You’re such a jerk,” he tells Adam, poking him in the chest with his finger. Even over the crowd he can hear the fondness in his voice. Adam doesn’t disagree.

 

 **7.**

It’s a surreal night in a lot of ways. Boas and silly string, crew members singing and the other boys dancing around while Kris plays the piano. It’s hard not to be conscious of the fact that this is the last time for everything. Last warm-up, last boring afternoon in the greenroom, last time to see these faces every day. Adam’s not really a sentimental person, but he can’t help feeling like it’s the last day of senior year and everyone’s going off to start their lives and nothing will ever be the same again.

He’s waiting by the lift when Kris swaggers up wearing his jacket, a smirk threatening to take over his face. He’s practically engulfed in leather, the cuffs almost skimming his fingertips.

“What do you think?” Kris asks. “Is it me?” Adam can’t even find words to say. When Kris had suggested that he wear it for the last number, Adam agreed expecting it to be funny or silly, or maybe endearing. Instead it’s making some unnamed emotion churn through his veins, some bizarre mix of jealousy and affection and imminent loss and _want_. He just about reaches for Kris right then and there, with two grips and a lighting tech standing five feet away. He wants to slide his hands under the jacket and up Kris’s spine, to lick the faint remnants of make-up from his lips, to catch hold of him and refuse to let go. He’s _dying_ to. The fact that he can’t is like a punch in the gut. He balls his hands into fists at his sides. Adam’s not usually one to feel like life is unfair, but it’s sure seeming like it now.

The smirk has faded from Kris’s face and he’s watching Adam now, his fingers plucking nervously at the metal studs lining one sleeve. Something about his expression makes Adam think of the dog he’d had as a kid, a Golden Retriever prone to woebegone, apologetic expressions even when he’d done nothing wrong. Adam forces himself to smile, to uncurl his hands. It’s not Kris’s fault that Adam’s lousy at wanting something he can’t have.

“Needs a little something,” Adam says, his tone determinedly light. He catches the end of the feather boa around his neck and offers it to Kris. Kris smiles again. He reaches out and takes the end of the boa, tugging it from Adam’s neck, slowly, so that the feathers slide over his skin and make him shiver. For the millionth time, Adam’s left to wonder just how much of what Kris does is on purpose.

“There,” Kris says. He loops the boa carelessly around his neck. “Good?” Cursing himself, calling himself a hundred kinds of idiot, Adam reaches out and twitches the boa until it’s even. Then, on impulse, he flips the collar up, so that Kris almost looks like a miniature glam vampire. Kris ducks his head between Adam’s forearms, lets Adam fuss with the collar and the boa far longer than strictly necessary.

“Perfect,” Adam finally says. His hands are still clutching the lapels of the jacket. _Let go,_ he tells himself, and he doesn’t just mean the jacket.

“It’s been a privilege, Adam,” Kris says, voice pitched so low that Adam can only just hear him. Then he does that familiar dive, his arms going around Adam’s ribs, his forehead against Adam’s collarbone, and Adam’s arms encircle him reflexively.

“Same,” is all Adam can manage. He allows himself to turn his head towards Kris’s, to let his lips press against his hair. It’s the last night. He has an excuse.

 

 **8.**

It's technically not the first time Kris has kissed another guy. And not even, like, joking kisses or friend kisses or accidental drunk kisses, it's technically not the first time Kris has _made out_ with another guy. But it's the first time he's been sober and foam and fraternities weren't involved.

Adam's hand is splayed along Kris’s jaw, fingers curling all the way around to the back of his neck. Kris is used to feeling smaller than people all the time, but right now he feels downright tiny. He feels like Adam could swallow him whole. He kind of wants him to.

Adam pulls back first, even though Kris was the one who started it. He stares down at Kris, a mix of confusion and wonderment and wariness in his eyes. The warmth of his hand burns through Kris's skin and into his veins, until his whole body feels like it's on fire.

"We shouldn't have done that," Adam says.

"Probably not," Kris agrees. Adam quietly regards him for a long minute.

"Are we going to do it again?"

"God, I hope so." Kris can hear the transparent desperation in his own voice. All the unspoken sentences are hanging between them, all the obstacles and complications and obligations. Adam drops his hand and takes a step back, as if those things have physical form and are crowding him.

"We should get to bed,” he says, his voice neutral. “We have to be at the Ford thing early tomorrow." Kris doesn't say anything. He just watches as Adam tugs the door open and disappears down the corridor to his own room.

 

 **9.**

“So this is it.”

It’s the only thing Kris can think of to say. Everything between him and Adam has been strange and delicate all day. They barely spoke backstage before they went on, though Kris noticed that neither of them seemed to want to stray farther than five or ten feet from the other. It’s like there’s something invisible between them, something that keeps them apart but holds them together at the same time. Kris is almost exhausted by the effort it takes to pretend that everything’s fine. It’s taking a toll on everything in his life: his sleep, his health, his focus. His marriage.

Kris forces the thought of Katy out of his mind. He’ll have the whole flight to think about her, to wonder how he’s going to figure out his life. To worry that he might be about to ruin hers. He feels sick just at the thought of it, so he turns to Adam and repeats himself. It sounds just as inane the second time around.

“This _is_ it,” Adam agrees quietly. He’s holding himself carefully, like he doesn’t trust what he might do. Kris knows the feeling. He hitches his bag farther up his shoulder. Adam’s still in jeans and flip-flops. His flight doesn’t leave until later, but he came down with Kris to say goodbye. Too bad neither of them is saying anything. They might stand here forever, unable to speak but unwilling to give up. Kris imagines them both still here in the hotel lobby, old and grey, never having said anything other than “This is it,” for forty years. It makes him laugh and something about that breaks the spell.

“Take care of yourself, man,” he tells Adam. It’s inadequate, but it’s all he can let himself say. Adam’s smile is faint. It’s probably a bad idea for Kris to drop his bag on the horrible paisley carpet and launch himself at Adam. But then he’s had a lot of bad ideas, lately.

“I’ll miss you,” he mumbles into Adam’s shirt. He figures his voice is muffled by the fabric, that Adam couldn’t have heard. But when they break apart a few seconds later, Adam tilts Kris’s face up with a hand on his chin.

“I’ll miss you too,” he says, and the words are so soft and sweet that Kris feels like the biggest jerk on the face of the planet. Adam presses a gentle kiss against Kris’s forehead. His breath stirs Kris’s hair. Then he turns around and leaves, trotting quickly to the elevators without looking back. Kris waits until the elevator arrives, until Adam gets in and the doors slide closed over his back. Then he walks out to the car waiting for him in front of the hotel and fights the urge to turn around and go right back inside.

 

 **10.**

It’s been threatening rain for days. Huge black clouds have been hovering over the hills, bathing the city in a strange grayish-yellow light. It seems to match Adam’s mood. Having his future in someone else’s hands doesn’t agree with him.

He’s supposed to be happy, is the thing. The album is doing insanely well. Every day there’s a new offer for a magazine cover, a private party, an award show presenter gig with a fancy gift basket. It’s what he’s always wanted. Someday he’s going to look back and kick himself for moping around like a lovesick dope instead of enjoying it.

The last time he’d talked with Kris was months ago. They’d fought, something that almost never happened. Somehow the guards that Adam kept in place had slipped, he’d asked for too much. He’d asked for everything.

“What do you want from me?” Kris had almost shouted. It was so unlike Kris that Adam had been taken aback, unable to respond. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Adam,” Kris had continued, his voice softer. “I just…I don’t. I don’t know.” He sounded bewildered, lost. Adam couldn’t even decide if he was more upset for Kris or for himself.

He’s long given up on the fantasy that Kris will call, that he’ll show up on Adam’s doorstep and say it’s over, that he's left his wife. He felt guilty as fuck for even thinking of it. You’ve got to be low to wish for the destruction of someone’s marriage because you’ve got some fucking stupid idea that you can’t be happy otherwise. Which is why the day that Kris _does_ show up on his doorstep, Adam accidentally slams the door in his face in shock.

Kris looks confused but not angry when Adam opens it again after the shock has settled in. He raises his eyebrows, offers Adam a tentative smile.

“I’m not selling anything, if that makes you feel any better,” he says. Adam still doesn’t say anything. He’s not that sure he isn’t dreaming honestly.

“Well, I might as well just get it out of the way,” Kris says. He’s fidgeting nervously, the toe of one sneaker twisting in circles on the concrete step. “We’re separated. No papers filed yet, but…well, it’s complicated. You and I should talk.”

“Talk,” Adam manages. Talking. How can he handle talking when his brain just exploded? Kris smiles at him. It’s not quite a happy smile, but it’s solid. It’s honest. It’s something Adam wants to trust.

“Kris,” he says, and somehow the misery of the last few months is all crammed inside that word. He clenches his teeth, not wanting to hear his desperation again, not wanting to let the idea of _possible_ into his head when he’s almost chased it out. Like he’s reading Adam’s mind, Kris stands on his tiptoes and kisses him. For something they’ve barely done before, it seems overwhelmingly familiar.

“Invite me in so we can talk,” Kris tells him, his lips moving against Adam’s. It only takes a moment for Adam to decide to reach for the doorknob behind him and gesture Kris inside. It only takes a split second.


End file.
